


FBI?

by alexrun



Series: Poison Oak [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Awkward, Blood, College, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mark of Cain, Panic Attack, Shy, Triggers, cut, freshman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexrun/pseuds/alexrun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a shy, self conscious girl trying to make your way through freshman year in college. When two "FBI agents" show up out-of-the-blue, you're stuck with choices you never thought you'd have to make! Will your anxiety get the best of you? Or will you let some strange men change your life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FBI?

Poison oak, some boyhood…bravery…

Your eyes shot open as your alarm clock went off. Snatching your phone, you tapped the screen, stopping the Bright Eyes song. Sitting up you sighed, brushing your short, (h/c) hair out of your face. It felt sticky with sweat, desperate for a shower. Getting out of bed was a hassle, all of your weight pulling you down and everything felt funky. Trudging your way to the door, you waited at the handle, hoping your roommate had made her way to classes already so you wouldn’t disturb her. Ah, that old spike of anxiety was already creeping deep in your chest, so early in the morning too.

Once there was no sound to be heard outside your door, you clicked the handle and opened the door. With a quick sweep of the room, you realized everyone had already left and you were able to be comfortably alone this morning. Smiling to yourself, you grabbed a fresh sweatshirt, skinny jeans, bra, and- pink panties? Why not. Into the shower you went.

The sound of water spurting out the overused showerhead dulled out after a while. You stood with the warm water running over your naked body. Every curve, edge, and lump was completely slick. Sighing slightly, you lathered your hair with shampoo and scrubbed it vigorously. You’d always been self-conscious of your body. Ever since you could remember. Your friends were always so skinny, or had curves in all the right places. Pretty eyes, cute smiles, flowy hair, and tight wrists. And then there was you, you knew you were the ugly one. The chub that no male wanted. Sometimes you were fine with that honestly, but then sometimes It really hurt.

You grasped your love-handles violently; wishing madly you could just cut them off and have a flat stomach. Be able to wear what you want. Walk into a room with confidence.

The mint of the tooth-paste stung your taste buds and all the sores in your mouth. Looking at yourself in the mirror as you brushed your teeth; you guessed that having a shorter haircut didn’t help attract the male population either. But you just really liked it short. Having long hair just felt like a lie. Felt like a mask. You wished you could be more traditionally girly, but it hurt whenever you tried. All you saw in the mirror was a big-boned monster trying to fit into cute frills and bows. Ugh.  
After packing your uniquely designed backpack (It had donuts on it!) for class, you sprit some warm vanilla perfume over yourself and guessed you were “ready” for the world today. Throwing on an extra jacket for good measures.

“Men shouldn’t get to me like this, why does it even matter?” You thought out loud to yourself as you made your way down the hall of you dorm.  
People staggered around, looking at their phones as they walked by you. I’m invisible, yet I feel like everyone is judging me. Anxiety sucks… The thoughts pulsed through your head. You had made it out to the park in the middle of campus. You’d only ever been on one real date in your 18 years of living. In this society, that was pathetic. Friends would laugh and give you a sympathetic look, saying “It’s okay (y/n), we’ll find you a boyfriend!” and wink as if that fixed everything. Trudging through the snow, you knew today was going to be hard. I can’t do this.

Inside the building where your class is held, girls glanced at you awkwardly as you walked by. The halls were long and complicated. Twisted here and there. The numbers for rooms grew higher. 320…354…401… “I can’t do this…” you whispered quietly, panting as you jogged up the stairs.

You decided class was not an option, feeling the burn of tears creep on the edges of your eyelids. “I can’t…d-do th-…this…!” A sob broke form your lips and you knew it was over. Crumpling to your knees, your hands in tight fists on the ground, and your head hung low. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks and broken gasps choked their way out your throat. It’s just a panic attack, it’ll go away soon…just let it take you…you repeated this to yourself over and over as you rocked against a wall.

Slowly, it ceased, and you realized for the first time where you had fallen. A dim, empty class room on…what floor is this? You didn’t care, you were alone and that’s all that mattered.

“There goes my make-up…” You sarcastically sighed to yourself, wiping the tears and sweat off your face.

Now you had a pounding head-ache. Boom! Boom! Boom! Your heart pulsed in you temples and you realized you were so thirsty. Mouth dry and still hiccupping from the attack. Boom! Boom! Boom! W-wait…that wasn’t coming from your head.

“Come on Sam, someone‘s gonna see us…!” A gruff voice hissed from outside the door frame of your empty classroom.  
You ran behind the teacher’s desk, scared out of your wits that someone would see you in this state. The booming sound was coming from their feet, they sounded tall and big, both terrifying factors for you. The thumping became louder and stopped with a quick slam of a door. Shit! They’re in the class room! I’m in way over my head. I should have just gone to class. You cursed yourself as they walked to the opposite side from where you were and looked out the blinds of a window, as if checking for people. Am I going to be murdered here?

“So, this is the room?” The same gruff voice asked, a bit louder now that they had closed the door.

“Yup, room 437.” This voice sounded nice, soothing even, “This is where Mark Lucero took the plunge.”

W-what?! Someone committed suicide here? You gulped and tried to steady your breathing, clutching your chest.

“I’d probably do the same if I had to go to college here.” The deeper voice snickered, but you knew this was no laughing matter.

After a ruffling of jackets, a weird beeping sound started in the room. “Yea, the EMF is definitely picking up on somethin’.”

EMF…like ghosts? What the hell kind of Wednesday was this? Their feet stomped around the room. You could tell they were searching for something form the sound of drawers sliding in and out and papers being ruffled. You kept listening as the men made small talk, getting used to their snarky comments about this Mark guy committing suicide, you started to get comfortable. This was your biggest mistake. Sitting behind the desk, you leaned against it with your knees pulled up to your chest and arms wrapped tight around them. You rested our chin on your knee caps and started to close your (e/c) eyes, their voices lulling you to sleep. After all, you were exhausted after that panic attack; it didn’t take much to put you to sleep. Sighing gently, your weight slowly shifted more and more onto the old desk until-

*CRACK!!!*

The whole table had collapsed sideways from you leaning on it. A sharp yelp escaped your lips and your arms outstretched instantly to grasp onto something as you went with the desk. In a cloud of dust, you laid on top of the crumpled desk face down, frozen from shock and fear at what had just happened.  
“The hell?!” The shorter of the two men barked, staring at you with wide green eyes.

Suddenly, that warm and cozy feeling you got from them was gone, completely. The tips of your body were sparking with cold fear and your head was spinning. What do I do!? Should I run? Would they catch me!? Are they gonna hurt me!? AHHHH!! Instead you just laid there on the pile of wood with your mouth gapping open like an idiot, stuck in place.

After what seemed like forever, the taller one shifted his weight and broke the silence, “U-uhm, we’re FBI working a case here. I know it doesn’t look like it-“ he motioned to his lack of official FBI attire, “but it’s because we’re undercover.”

You realized you had been holding your breath that whole time and quickly sucked in some air. Swallowing hard, you spoke in a broken, squeaky voice, “S-sorry, I-I was looking for my class…it’s not here though…o-obviously…” That didn’t make sense. Why were you hiding then? They’re gonna think you were spying on them and now they’re gonna arrest you. You winced at your own thoughts. You sat up and dusted yourself off, trying to act as casual and innocent as possible.

“Righhht. Well, if you don’t mind we have some stuff to do…” The shorter one said as he walked closer to you and leaned down menacingly close to your face.

Wow, he has some nice freckles. This is awkward though, “you won’t tell anyone,” he pulled out a pocket knife. It was small but he knew it scared you all the same, “will you?” he cocked his head, keeping eye contact like a maniac.

“Dean…!” The taller one shouted quietly, annoyed at how his partner was acting with you, “Come on, she’s just a freshman…and she looks like she’s had a rough morning already.”

That’s when you tasted the salt of your tear stains on your lips. Embarrassment flooded your veins as you brought your hands up to wipe the dried tears off your face. Fuck my life! Dean watched your every move like you were his prey and it frightened you beyond comprehension. His gaze burned and you watched as he looked at every aspect of you; studying you. When you stopped cleaning your face, his emerald eyes shot back into contact with your (e/c) ones and it made you flinch. The smirk on his full lips showed he was pleased at how easily it was to play you.

“Yeah. Fine.” The shorter agent grunted out, still keeping his eyes level with yours. You just couldn’t look away and it was freaking you out so much that you had started shaking slightly.

The agent named Dean stood up to his full, terrifying height and stomped away with a kind of swagger. It made you mad that he knew how to pull your strings even though you had just barley met the men, but you weren’t about to say or do anything to make them aggravated. With that, you quickly picked up your sad little backpack and stood up to your short height. Picking off splinters, you noticed a stinging pain in your pinky and saw bright red streaming down from the tip of it. I must’ve cut myself pretty good to bleed that much. You tried to slyly hide it but failed, as the taller one noticed the blood.

“Are you alright?” He asked so sweetly you almost felt like you weren’t talking to FBI agents that were too close to arresting you.

“OH! YEA!” Idiot, did you have to yell? Could you be more obvious? “I’m just g-going now!” You pointed at the door and smiled awkwardly as you walked towards it.

But the man reached you with one long stride and put his huge hand on your shoulder. It stopped you right in your tracks, flinching at the sudden human contact, MALE contact. Holy shit what the fuck do I do?! Nonono, they’re gonna kill me! 

The man slouched so he matched your height and nodded towards your hand, “May I see?”

You stood their starring into his puppy-like eyes. How could you say no? You nodded slowly, hesitantly, and he smiled as he grasped your hand gently. It was like he was a huge teddy bear and not an agent of the USA who had probably killed people. You gulped and your cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. This is stupid, don’t blush! They’re like, 20 years older than you probably! He studied your pale pinky, glossed with a crimson red.

“That’s a pretty deep cut, does it hurt?” He asked, looking up at you.

You shook your head, still too shy to say anything. He smirked and chuckled, “Tough girl, Dean get me my first-aid from my bag.” He called to the other man.

Dean stood there for second, looking like he’d refuse at first, and then started walking to a bag with a sudden jerk of movement. He gave you an uneasy feeling for some reason, like he was unstable or something. Whatever it was, you were glad that his partner was here to set him straight in case he did anything to you.

Dean brought a small bright red pouch over with the words ‘Frist-Aid’ printed in white on it, “Here ya go, princess.” He scoffed almost mockingly but winked before turning back to his business, which confused you beyond anything.

The taller man holding your hand gave Dean a look of annoyance and shook his head, turning his attention back on you. He pressed a dampened cotton ball of alcohol onto your cut which stung so bad your whole arm twitched unintentionally.

“Woah, are you alright? The hard part is over.” He loosened his grip as to not hurt your shaking arm.

“Y-yea, sorry…” You whispered, wanting to punch yourself.

“Alright then,” He put a Band-Aid on it and stepped back, “All better, you’re free to go now.”

With that you nodded a thank you and held your wounded hand in the other before turning to the door. This has been such a weird and…hot…morning. Just as you laid your hand on the door handle-

“Hold on!” Dean suddenly shouted from across the room which made you almost pee your pants.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder and Dean was holding a bunch of papers in front of an opened student desk.

“You’re staying with us miss.” He turned one of the papers over, holding it up, “Sorry but, I think you’re gonna come in handy…”

What he held in his hand made you heart stop and your veins run cold.

It was a picture.

Of you.


End file.
